by Peter Corris
I yawned. I hadn’t done any investigating that day but I’d chopped some wood and scythed some long grass-the sort of things city slickers do when they visit the country. Do once. ‘Risky, is it?’
He shook his head. ‘Not if it’s done right. Unless we get some capital and modernisation into these farms, and kick the country towns back into life, we’re going under anyway. I have to make them see that somehow.’
Jacko had convened a meeting to be held in the school hall two nights away. He asked me if I’d go with him to meet some of his supporters.
‘I’m more interested in meeting your detractors.’
‘There’ll be some of them as well.’
I agreed to go and I filled in the daylight hours tramping around the farm, fishing without success in the creek and working my way through a few of the paperbacks in Jacko’s scanty library. In with the novels and non-fiction were a few expensive hardbacks which turned out to be school prizes for Kevin. He’d attended a boarding school in Canberra and had won prizes for geography and economics in his HSC year and for a few other subjects earlier on.
When I was sure he was well out of the way I sneaked into his room and looked it over. No computer, no rifles, just the usual young person’s detritus of clothes, sporting goods, magazines and keepsakes. A framed photograph lay face down on the chest of drawers, I turned it over, being careful not to disturb the dust that had gathered around it. It was a family picture-Jacko and Shirley as the proud parents of teenagers Debbie and Kevin. At a guess it had been taken two or three years back. Kevin’s expression was cheerful and hopeful, not the miserable scowl he wore nowadays.
Kevin’s sporting trophies-for football, basketball and tennis-lay in a jumbled heap in his closet along with a pair of football boots and a racquet with a couple of broken strings. It depressed me to look at them and I guessed they had the same effect on Kevin.
We set off in the Pajero shortly after 6 pm, Jacko and me to attend the meeting and Kevin to meet his mates in the pub. Father and son had had another argument and the atmosphere in the car was chilly. Kevin lolled in the back smoking. I didn’t care but Glen was fiercely anti and I wondered how long the smell would linger.
We passed the Western Holdings gate and began the descent towards the road that led into Carter’s Creek. The light was dimming and I squinted to adjust my eyes to it.
‘Something wrong, Cliff?’
‘No, just getting used to the light.’
I heard a derisive snort from the back seat.
‘Shut up!’ Jacko snapped.
The tension between the two had obviously been building and I hoped it wouldn’t break in my presence. I slowed for a bend. I heard a thump on the roof and thought it was a stone, then a hole appeared in the windshield and I heard a whistling sound and another thump behind me. I swore and swerved and headed for a clump of trees twenty metres ahead. I braked hard and threw up a cloud of dust.
‘Jesus,’ Jacko said. ‘Jesus Christ.’
We’d both been under fire in jeeps in Malaya. We knew what had happened and how close the second shot had come to us.
Jacko turned around. ‘Kev, are you…? Oh God, he’s hit.’
We jumped out and opened the back doors. Kevin lay slumped in his seatbelt. The front of his shirt was dark with blood and a thick trickle of it ran down the vinyl to the floor. His normally tanned face was pale and his eyes were closed.
Jacko climbed in, released the belt catch and lowered Kevin to the seat. He tore the wet shirt open and peeled it back. ‘Thank Christ,’ he said. ‘Shoulder. But he’s losing blood fast. Get going, Cliff. There’s a doctor in town. I’ll try to stop the bleeding. Go!’
I slammed the back doors, got behind the wheel and gunned the motor. My heart was pumping and my eyes watered as dust blew in through the hole in the windshield. I had the Pajero up to top speed within fifty metres and fought to control it on the loose dirt. Ease up, I thought. No point in killing all three of us. I dropped the speed and concentrated on keeping a steady pace.
‘How is he?’
Jacko didn’t answer.
I drove as fast as the road condition, the broken windshield and consideration for Kevin allowed. Jacko used my mobile to call the doctor, who said it sounded as if Kevin would need the helicopter ambulance service.
‘Do it!’ Jacko said.
As I drove I couldn’t help thinking that this took Kevin off my list of suspects. We got to town and Jacko directed me to the doctor’s house. He was waiting with a gurney and we wheeled Kevin inside.
‘How long till the helicopter gets here?’ Jacko asked.
The doctor, a youngish thin man with a beard and a harassed manner, shook his head. ‘Hard to say, Jack. They’ll be as quick as they can. At least the weather’s okay for night flying. Say an hour. Let’s get a good look at him.’
We helped to cut Kevin’s shirt away and remove the pads Jacko had made by ripping up his own shirt.
‘How many gunshot wounds have you dealt with, doctor?’ I asked.
‘This is my first. Stand back and let me clean it.’
The wound was seeping rather than pumping blood but Kevin had lost all colour.
‘Pulse is weak,’ the doctor said.
Jacko pounded his fist against the wall. ‘Jesus, when I find out who did this
‘Don’t forget the shot was probably meant for you or maybe me. Kevin was just unlucky.’
‘The bullet’s still in there,’ the doctor said, talking to himself, ‘along with some metal and fibres from the shirt. That’s a worry.’
Jacko snarled, ‘Can’t you get it out?’
‘This isn’t the movies, Mr Brown.’
He kept cleaning the wound and monitoring Kevin’s pulse. Jacko wiped his son’s face a few times as if he could restore life and colour to it. Kevin looked very young.
We heard the beat of propellers outside and Jacko muttered, ‘Thank Christ.’
We wheeled the gurney out and the paramedics took over. They lifted Kevin into the helicopter and began working on him. Jacko hovered, asking questions and swearing when he got no answers. Eventually one of the paramedics broke away and beckoned him.
‘Better come with us, mate.’
‘How the fuck is he?’
‘Blood loss and shock but he’s young and strong. Good chance, I reckon. Let’s go.’
Jacko climbed in without a backward glance and the helicopter lifted off, leaving me standing with the doctor beside the empty blood-smeared gurney.
‘Thanks, doctor,’ I said. ‘Where’s the base?’
‘Cobar. Won’t take long. He should be all right. I’ll have to report a gunshot wound. Can you give me the details? It’s Hardy, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, but your report’ll have to wait.’
I pulled up outside the school where a group of people, men and women, were milling about. Some were smoking, all looked impatient. I’d met a few of them in my snooping about but most of them were unknown to me. One of the men I’d spoken to in the pub along with Ted Firth approached me.
‘What’s up?’
I told him and the news passed around and they pressed closer to get more details but they had all I knew very quickly. There was more smoking and clucking of sympathy and shaking of heads and they drifted away. I wondered who, if anyone, was missing. Running out of likely suspects, I was beginning to wonder about Jacko’s supposed friends, but there was no one to ask. I went back to my car and opened the door. The interior light came on and I noticed a mark in the upholstery of the back seat. I opened the back door and leaned in, trying to make sure I didn’t get blood on me. There was a hole in the backrest about dead centre and a couple of centimetres from the top. I probed it and scooped out a bullet. It had to be the shot that had broken the windshield and passed between Jacko and me. I examined it under the light. I’m no expert but it looked to be a different calibre again from the bullets that had killed Jacko’s horse and sheep.
‘Hey, you. A
rsehole!’
I put the bullet in my pocket and spun around. Big Jimmy was coming towards me from the school. He walked steadily, not drunk this time, and he carried a short length of heavy chain.
‘I’ve been lookin forward to meeting you again, mate,’ he growled.
He jumped closer before I could speak and swung the chain. It missed me fractionally and clattered against the Pajero. The repairs to Glens car were going to cost me a bundle. I backed away and he came at me again, swinging. The chain passed over my head as I ducked low. I felt something under my hand and picked it up-a rusted, broken star picket. Jimmy came on fast and swung straight. I raised the stake and the chain wrapped around it. Jimmy grunted, hung onto the chain and lurched towards me, off balance. I braced myself and drove forward. Jimmy’s grip slackened and I hammered him high on the chest with the stake.
He went down and I straddled him with the stake pressed across his throat.
‘Give it away, Jimmy. You’re an amateur. With me it’s a job.’
He swore a few times and I increased the pressure. ‘I haven’t got time to waste on you,’ I said. ‘Might interest you to know your mate Kevin’s on his way to hospital with a bullet in him.’
All resistance went out of him. ‘What? What d’you mean?’
I was getting tired of squatting and pressing so I eased up and away. ‘What I said. Someone shot at us coming in. Kevin got hit.’
He shook his head and climbed slowly to his feet. I was still holding the stake and chain but there was no fight in him now and I dropped them.
‘Is he all right?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno. His dad’s gone in the helicopter with him.’
Jimmy rubbed his chest, which must have been heavily bruised. ‘Shit, poor Kev.’
I began to walk away when an idea occurred to me and I turned back. ‘How long were you hanging around there?’
‘Hour or so. Bit more. Look, I’m sorry, mate. I-’
‘Forget it. You might be able to help me. Did anyone arrive late at the meeting or look strange?’
Jimmy wasn’t the brightest. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Rushed, worried, anxious.’
‘Aw, a couple come late.’
‘Who?’
‘Brucie Perkins… and Lenny Rogers come roaring up.’ What I was getting at slowly seeped through to him but he shook his head. ‘No, no way. They’re both good mates of Kev’s dad. Good mates.’
‘All right. I’ve got to go. Maybe you should go to the pub and let Kevin’s friends know. You might want to ring the hospital or something.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I could do that. Thanks, mate, and look, like I said, I-’
‘Don’t forget your chain,’ I said.
I drove back to the Brown farm with cold air whistling through the windshield and an idea buzzing in my head.
I phoned the hospital and was told that Kevin was in a stable condition. In the morning I told old Harry and the others what had happened and how Kevin was. I guessed that Jacko would be back as soon as his son was clearly out of danger.
I drove into town and gave the doctor the details on the shooting, then I located Vic Bruce, the policeman, and did the same. That occupied the early part of the morning. By eleven o’clock I was in the pub talking to Ted Firth.
‘Terrible thing, that,’ he said.
I agreed, bought us both a beer and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘How do you feel about the community bank idea, Ted?’
‘I’m all for it. Could set the place up again. Yep, I’ve agreed to kick in.’
‘Bit of a risk, isn’t it?’
‘Not doing any good as it is.’
‘I believe Bruce Perkins and Len Rogers are onside?’
‘Yeah. Great mates of Jacko’s.’
I sipped some beer. ‘I was hoping to meet them last night, but.. Tell me a bit about them.’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I dunno. What sort of blokes they are, how their farms’re doing. You know.’
‘Both doing it a bit hard, I suppose, but I know they’ve agreed to come in on the bank thing. Brucie tried to modernise, spent some money on a computer and the internet and that. Dunno what good it did him. Lenny’s a good bloke, battler. Oh, Brucie’s like you and Jacko, ex-army. Good bit younger, of course. Vietnam.’
I nodded and switched the subject to Kevin and then to the world at large. After that it was simply a matter of sitting down with the telephone, a pot of coffee and a notepad. You can find out practically anything you want about anybody nowadays if you know how to go about it. I learned that Bruce James Perkins had been in Vietnam in 1966-67 as a national serviceman. A member of the 5th Battalion, he’d been promoted to corporal, commended for bravery in the field and in training he’d had out-standing results in rifle shooting. An extensive credit check showed that his property was heavily mortgaged, that he had numerous and weighty credit card debts and recurrent and pressing tax liabilities. He was in arrears on his rates and struggling to pay his telephone bills. Earlier in the year he’d bought a state of the art computer and printer on his American Express card which had since been cancelled. He was the licensed owner of two rifles. Plus one, I thought as I jotted this down.
Kevin was declared out of danger and Jacko came back the next day.
‘Jimmy and Rosie are going in today to keep him company and bring him back when he’s fit to travel,’ Jacko said.
‘Rosie?’
‘Rosie Williams, local girl. Good people. Apparently she and Kevin have been keeping company when he wasn’t on the piss with his mates. News to me.’
We were in town. Jacko had got a lift from Cobar and I’d driven in to get him. We went to the pub where I had a beer and Jacko had tonic water and bitters. It seemed as good a time and place as any to tell him.
‘I think I know who’s behind your trouble.’
I laid it out for him. At first he was sceptical, then his face fell into serious, angry lines as the pieces joined together.
‘It’s circumstantial,’ I said.
Jacko drained his glass. ‘I hate to say it, but it looks pretty convincing. Only one way to find out.’
I nodded and took the three bullets from my pocket. ‘You could tell him I’ve had these examined and know what kind of rifle they were fired from. Bluff.’
Jacko took the bullets and we went out to the ute. I’d ordered a new windshield from Cobar-Syd Parry said he could fit it-but it was going to take a few days to arrive.
Before we started I put my hand on Jacko’s shoulder. ‘If it is him, and he admits it, what’ll you do?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want you doing anything stupid. Maybe we should take Vic Bruce along.’
‘No. I promise I won’t kill him, but that’s all I’ll promise.’
Jacko drove. We were silent, each with our own thoughts. We reached the Perkins farm, which looked even more rundown than Jacko’s. We pulled up outside the house and a woman came to the door.
“lo, Jack.’
‘Iris,’ Jacko said. ‘Where’s Brucie?’
‘Water tank. Pump’s playing up. Will you have a cuppa?’
‘Maybe, in a minute or two.’
I nodded a mute greeting to the woman and followed Jacko around the house and down a path to where a big water tank stood beside a clump of stunted apple trees. A man in overalls was bent over the pump fixture. He straightened up when he saw us coming. Big bloke. He had a heavy pair of pliers in his hand and I let my fingers curl around the butt of the. 38 in my pocket. Then I saw that Jacko had a tyre iron held against his leg and I released my grip on the pistol.
Jacko stopped two metres short of Perkins. He fished in his shirt pocket with his left hand and held up the bullets. ‘My mate here’s had these examined. Know what, he reckons they come from a Martini-Henry and a Savage. Not sure about the other one. How about it, Brucie? Like to bring ‘em out and let us do a match-up?’
Perkins’ weather-beaten face went pale. ‘Sh
it, Jacko, I never meant to…’
It was enough for Jacko. He stepped forward and the left he threw was as fast and straight as back in his Police Boys Club days. In one motion he tossed away the tyre iron and followed up with a jolting right that took Perkins on the side of the jaw, twisted his head around and dropped him.
Jacko knelt with his knee pressing down on Perkins’ chest. ‘Now tell me why,’ he said. He picked up the pliers Perkins had dropped. ‘That’s if you want to keep any teeth.’
It was all about money, the way it mostly is. Bruce Perkins had agreed to back the community bank to the hilt while at the same time he was in negotiation with one of the big holders to sell his property. The community bank idea moved faster than the negotiation so he was faced with the prospect of having to declare how little equity in his farm he had and how big his obligations were. With that known, the buyer would get his place for a song, so he tried to block the community bank. He told Jacko he’d deliberately hit the roof with the first shot as a sighter and had put the second one between us. He didn’t know there was anyone in the back.
‘D’you believe him?’ I said.
‘He can hit a hopping kangaroo in the head at two hundred yards.’
‘What’re you going to do about him?’
‘Dunno.’
Jacko insisted on paying me a fee and paying for the repairs on the Pajero. He got the community bank set up and it’s doing fine. Kevin’s working in it and plans to marry his girlfriend. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bank’s helping Bruce Perkins to survive. Jacko’s that sort of bloke.
‹‹Contents››
CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
Brian Morgan was a worried man. He was the CEO of a firm that controlled several major suburban shopping complexes. Despite the flat economy, these enterprises were doing okay-all except one.
‘Petersham Plaza,’ he said. ‘Not the biggest of our shows, but margins are tight in this business and every centre has to pay its way. If the big ones have to subsidise the smaller one the leaseholders’ll scream.’
‘What’s wrong in Petersham?’ I asked.
